The Art of the Lunchbox Note

By Suzanna Parpos

Crayons – the sticks of pigmented wax used for coloring aren’t solely synonymous with school-aged children and the Marines. A box of Crayola was also a single mother’s go-to on many a late-nights.

Before the days of, “bruh,” my preteen was a preschooler that loved getting lunchbox notes. I stretched out this written expression of love through as many of the elementary years as possible but much earlier than I would’ve liked, it became uncool for a boy to get a napkin with hand-drawn hearts on it from his mom.

That’s what perplexes me – I wasn’t the mom that drew excessive symbols of love. My “canvas” wasn’t even a napkin; it was blank index cards. I put a wholehearted effort to ensure the notes were cool, partly at my son’s request that I not embarrass him, and partly because coloring elaborate lunchbox notes was oddly therapeutic…

I confess: I was a single working mom in her thirties with a proclivity for staying up late at night to draw detailed lunchbox notes. In the light of the moon, I sat at the table with my Crayolas. And since no true artist creates Louvre-like lunchbox notes without a black Sharpie, I also had that next to my cup of tea.

Yes, tea – not wine, because evidently in my thirties, I harbored the habits of someone in her nineties.

Yes, I started my days with a coffee. Yes, I ended them with a tea. And yes, research abounds as to the benefits of coloring. Even for adults, it can relax the fear center of the brain and, “generate mindfulness and quietness, which allows your mind to get some rest after a long day at work.”

I wasn’t conscious of the aforementioned when drawing; I just knew it was relaxing to get lost in something creative. In the stillness of the night, I drew Minecraft and Star Wars, pirates and pumpkins, dinosaurs and ninja turtles…anything that retained my son’s interest during that particular moment of a time. Each year, I had 180 nights to get my art on. Until the mutually agreed upon school day when the lunchbox notes got “pink-slipped.” My son didn’t need them anymore. My resignation as the “queen bee” of lunchbox notes came in the tranquility of gratitude. Why? Because the non-lovey-dovey notes weren’t about obliging the dodge of an embarrassment at the cafeteria table. And the elaborate, “Louvre-like” art wasn’t about the therapeutic benefits of coloring. It was about a mother giving her son comfort when he was (physically) away from her loving arms. It was about tenderly reassuring my son that he

In the light of the moon, I sat at the was safe in his home away from table with my Crayolas. And since no home and that his mom was, as true artist creates Louvre-like lunchbox she always will be, with him. My hope was that the 150% efnotes without a black Sharpie, I also fort I put into those mini canvases had that next to my cup of tea. of a mother’s expression of love would bring a smile to my son’s face during his school day. Essentially, my lunchbox notes were my “Kissing Hand” to him. In fact, they often featured characters from books we read. Finding drawings of Fly Guy and Froggy with his mac and cheese and homemade Greek butter cookies would bring to mind our nestled-up bedtime reads, where warmth, laughter and security surrounded him in his mother’s embrace. THAT is why I stayed up all those late nights coloring elaborate lunchbox notes, so my son could feel, and visually see, the love all school day through. Suzanna Parpos works in the field of education. She is a single mom and writer fueled more by music than coffee. For ten years, Suzanna freelance wrote a bi-weekly newspaper column in Massachusetts. Her work has also been published in Teaching PreK-8 Magazine, the Boston Metro, BLUNT Moms, Boston Parents Paper and Worcester Magazine, among other publications. She is known in her hometown for the traditional Greek moon-shaped cookies she bakes and delivers, all while wearing stilettos and a baseball hat. Visit her site at: www.suzannaparpos.com.